arrivederci giogio

Chapter 8- un altro incubo rosso

Almost everything seemed to be unrecognizable. Buildings were collapsed and turned to ash, and the forests were running out of resources to provide for everyone. But of course, survival of the fittest was still relevant. Whether they were with a group or by themselves, some people were lucky enough to survive.

One of those survivors was one to which people used to call the golden boy, a challenge beast, if you will. He had bubblegum pink hair and sun-kissed skin to which was covered beautifully in freckles. His eyes were the color of caramel, but they now looked lifeless and dull.

He sat on top of yellow, burnt, and dead grass. It was pokey and uncomfortable, but it was one of the only safe spots that he knew of. His long hair was ratty and matted, pulled into a messy bun on top of his head while his bangs were left hanging out. He hugged his legs to his chest as he sat there, taking a look at his clothes. The bottom of his pants were tattered and his sweater could barely even be called a shirt anymore. He had torn his sleeves to bandage wounds that he had endowed over time. He coughed a bit, having inhaled an unhealthy amount of smoke from how much was formed in the air. His eyes were watery and would often cry on their own. It had been a few days since he had found anything to eat, but his stomach growled lowly and he wasn't sure if he could stand the pain any longer. It was as if every fiber of his beating was fighting to ignore this pain, but there was no way that he could ignore it mentally or physically. With shaky legs, Doppio lifted himself from the ground and began to walk into the forest to search for food. He had to keep quiet steps, and well, keep quiet in general. The rusted blonde was no joke, that was more than a fact at this point. He was near as powerful as a god, and there was no way that Doppio could compete with the corrupted boy. His shoes were now next to nothing with the amount of wear that they had gone through, meaning that the bubblegum haired boy could feel near anything that was unpleasant beneath him. He kept an eye out for anything that could be edible. It didn't even matter if it tasted good or not at this point. Anything that satisfied his hunger was more than enough. His stomach growled yet again, creating an uncomfortable pain in his stomach. The pink haired boy cringed, finding a nearby pond. The fish were floating on their backs with glazed over eyes, the smoky water carrying them down the pond. They were dead. He knew it wasn't the safest option, but it was the only one. He picked some of the dead grass and sat it down on a dry surface. He began to rub a piece of flint against a small knife that he kept in his pocket, starting a fire in seconds. He grabbed the deceased fish and began to gut it with the knife. The fumes of it were nauseating and were enough to make him feel as if he had to throw up. He had to ignore it and focus on feeding himself. He covered his nose with the remains of his sweater and stabbed the fish onto a stick, cooking it over the fire. The unfortunate thing was that as soon as he cooked it, he had to run as far away as he could to avoid getting caught at all. Starting a lone fire was a dead giveaway that there was a survivor still lingering around. The cooked fish was hot against his hands as he grabbed it off of the scorching stick. He splashed some water from the mossy pond onto the fire, putting it out instantly. With that, the bubblegum pink haired boy felt his adrenaline kick on and began to run as fast as he could away from the sight. He panted until he eventually felt the path turn to stone, his eyes widening. He hadn't seen anything man-made in a long time. Maybe it was the only place that survived.

He sat down and began to eat the cooked fish, to which tasted terrible. It was slimy and rotten, of course it wasn't going to taste good. He gagged as he ate it, forcing himself to keep it down. It was about the worst thing he's ever had. He tried to set that fact aside and eventually got it down, causing him to feel sicker and weaker than before. He thought about his boss and how much he missed him, taking a seat down on one of the stone tiles and stared up to a statue that was placed beside him.

"Boss... If only I could talk to you just one more time," A sorrowful smile grew upon his face as he thought of the lovely memories that he made with the fuschia haired man. He knew not what he looked like, but his voice was always so enchanting and comforting to Doppio. He lied down on his side and tried to catch some rest, when the familiar voice came running through his head.

"Oh Doppio, my sweet, charming Doppio...," It was Diavolo! Doppio felt his heartbeat spike up in excitement.

"Boss? Is that you?!" He questioned, rising up from the ground.

"Yes, Doppio. I'm sorry that I haven't been able to talk to you as much as I want to recently," He sighs. "But I promise you that I will overthrow the rusted blonde and I will take all of the power for myself. I will revert the world back to how it's always been, and then you and I can finally live in peace. We can stay up late and watch movies together, just like how we always used to," He chuckles. It brings a sense of comfort to Doppio to hear him say that.

"I'm glad," He smiles at that, feeling his mood start to lift a bit despite him being covered in ashes and injuries. "I want to watch everything just how we used to. That sounds good to me," He grins.

"It sounds good to me, too. Now do me a favor and get some rest, my Doppio. When you awaken, I will have saved the world from this hellish boy!" Diavolo raises his voice, sounding quite confident.

"Okay. I will do that, Boss," Doppio nods his head before his eyelids fall down and he rests in front of one of the statues.

The ending of this story is one that can only be described as tragic and sad. Diavolo was never really there, Doppio hallucinated him to be because he was so desperate to talk to someone again. The tile that he was walking on was truly not there either, he imagined it to be. And the statues? They were gravestones. The toxins of the deceased fish ran throughout his body, causing him to feel weak. He thought of when he'd sit on the couch with his boss and watch films with him...

The toxins were too much. They had eventually killed him.

Vinegar Doppio
July 18th, 1969-October 2nd, 1999